


Get Yours, Get Mine

by Louffox



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Cult of Dionysus, Drug Use, Drugging, FEELINGS!?, Grump Zolf, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgy, Party Boy Wilde, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Relationship, Puns ahoy!, Smut, Takes place before the gang gets back from Rome, Unknowingly Drugged, blatantly inaccurate pathfinder bard magic, it's not actually a roofie but please mind the tags, no beta we die like men, or at least opinions on the ethics of fucking, pre-Rome, the ethics of fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: "Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power."Wilde infiltrates a Dionysus party to follow a lead and disappears. Zolf has to go rescue him, because that's the responsible thing to do.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 23
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone spots any CW's I didn't put in the tags, let me know!  
> Bless those who've been along for this ride. I ship these two so hard.

"This is the stupidest idea you've had yet."

"Look, the paladins know something, and I've tried every other avenue."

Zolf pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to the sight in front of him. "Then maybe this isn't a road we should go down."

"Give me another lead to chase, then."

And Zolf was silent, because he didn't have any, and Wilde knew it. Wilde was silent too, because he couldn't talk when he put on eyeliner- the heel of his hand rested on the corner of his mouth, and speaking would make him wobble. The line he painted was perfect, of course.

"Why don't you just do magic for that? Hamid always did."

"I enjoy the task. It's essentially war paint, for me. And Hamid only used magic to fix his, he still put on the essentials the old fashioned way."

"Pretty sure magic is more old fashioned and ancient than makeup paints," Zolf snorted.

"I thought you didn't want me to go. Now you're suddenly talking about makeup?"

"Just making conversation, since you don't seem to wanna make  _ sense _ ."

"You're just caught up in my attraction. Admit it, the real reason you don't want me to go is that you can't stand the thought of someone else putting their hands… fingers…. mouth…. on me." He blinked a few times, studying his work, and then beamed at Zolf in the mirror. "You want me."

"That is  _ not _ true," Zolf said sharply.

"If you want to sleep with me, just ask. Or take me to bed, if you can't find the words to express your wanton desires. I can take a hint," Wilde said casually, dipping a brush in something shiny and gold.

"That's not why I'm against this. I'm against this because it's dangerous and not well thought out and last minute and probably going to get you killed."

"And then I die doing what I love. Loving," he replied dreamily.

"I don't think a big Dionysus-sponsored, wine-soaked, orgy-fuck counts as 'loving'."

"Not with that attitude."

Zolf marched off. He didn't want to think about Wilde and his definition of "loving." He certainly wasn't going to sulk around while Wilde finished getting ready. He did good and useful things, like baking.

"Are you  _ stress breadbaking _ because I'm going to infiltrate an orgy for information?" Wilde asked delightedly, when he found him in the kitchen.

"No! And it hardly counts as baking, muffins are technically more of a quick bread, more like cake than bread. So you're off, then? Not," he said sharply, cutting him off as an eyebrow went up and his mouth opened, "like that. You're leaving?"

"Mmm. How do I look?" He gave a quick spin, showing off his work. His hair, finally long (and longer than ever) was tied up, messily and with lots of braids and wavy strands framing his face. He had on some sort of gauzy tunic, robin's egg blue and white, tied with a brown belt. His torso was quite visible through the clouds of translucent fabric, and the collariwas loose and showing a lot of welcoming neck and collarbones and chest. He had on those stupid skintight leather pants- the ones he'd technically got as armor when Zolf had dragged him shopping for safer clothes than suits- and a pair of matching blue stiletto pumps. His nails were painted gold and blue, his eyes lined and lashes thick and dark.

"Like you belong on the front page of Orgy Weekly," Zolf told him. "How late are you going to be there?"

"I'd like to be back before sunrise. The storms always calm for a bit just before dawn. You'll be pleased to hear that I'm not actually going to the orgy for the orgy, I'm just getting what information I can and heading back. If I were actually going to have a proper fun time, I would tell you to come collect me sometime tomorrow late morning. Or afternoon, even," he said with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

"Right. Well, good luck then. Don't forget the mission." They always reminded each other of this before they went anywhere.  _ Don't forget the mission. _

"Don't wait up," Wilde said with a winning smile, and left.

Zolf thought maybe he would bake some bread as well. Homemade garlic knots, maybe. Some comfort food.

He knew he wouldn't sleep that night.

Between the nightmares, eternal storm gloom, lack of safety, and ever-present fear, a lack of sleep was common for all of them. Wilde especially, after the curses, but Zolf had found himself to be a bit of a caretaker, and always fretted and fussed if someone was out. He was usually unable to sleep until everyone had returned home safely. So he didn't expect to sleep that night. 

He grimly stayed up, waiting for Wilde to come back.

The sun began to rise. Still no Wilde.

He got his glaive and went to tell the others.

"-if I'm not back by lunch, I'm likely dead as well."

"Right. What was this dangerous mission again? A party?" 

"An orgy," Zolf said grumpily. Carter made a noise and began coughing, putting his coffee mug down, eyes streaming. Barnes didn't look up from his breakfast.

"Isn't every party Wilde is at just an orgy?" he scoffed.

"No, I mean this is- it's literally an orgy. You did hear when I said it was with the Dionysus lot, right?"

Now Barnes put his fork down. "Are you honestly telling me that people actually do orgies?"

"I mean…. Yeah? When I said 'orgy', what did you think I meant?"

"I. I guess I don't know. I just thought people said 'orgy' but really just meant a party that was sure to get out of hand and have a lot of people hooking up. Orgies actually happen? People plan them? And invite people to them?"

"Yes," Carter finally rasped, still red faced.

"...Officially orgy."

"Yes."

"Huh." He went back to eating his eggs. "Learned something new today."

Zolf was ready to never hear the word 'orgy' again and he hadn't even left for the party yet. "Right. Well, I'm off then.  _ No- _ don't you dare," he cried when Carter smirked and opened his mouth.

"He's probably fine. You just wish you'd gone with him," Carter said.

"Why- we are  _ not-  _ no. No. Why do people keep saying that, " Zolf groaned. 

"Cause it's true."

"It's really not."

"They'll figure it out," Barnes told Carter. "Good luck at your party. If you haven't checked in by sunset, we'll come rescue you."

"Uh- no, you don't. You leave us for dead."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious. We're not losing the entire party to a Dionysian orgy."

"You're right, we're not," Barnes said flatly. 

"We'd come and get you. We wouldn't have much choice, honestly- we'd be up a creek without a sailor. Honestly, though, you and Wilde are the spine of this. We'd all be six feet under without your healing, and Wilde's got so many plans and connections and bits of information squirreled away that we wouldn't stand a chance without him," Carter pointed out.

"You'd best get him back okay, Zolf. I'm not losing our cornerstone to an orgy."

Zolf stormed off before anyone could use the o-word again.

He decided to not dress up for an orgy. He puts his breastplate and leather coat on. Glaive in hand, he heads out. He's not one to fuck around when he should be fighting.

The temple was unguarded. Zolf sighs- the temple of Poseidon wouldn't have let guards leave their post for a party. Though, Poseidon's folk weren't likely having parties like this. They did drink and have some whopping good times, but he didn't expect their rowdy brawling drunken bashes to be anything similar to what he would find inside.

He opened the door and immediately ducked as a bottle smashed into the wall above his head.  _ Maybe this is like our parties after all _ .

Someone was yelling. Multiple someones. There was a hoard of people using blankets and each other to cover themselves in the corner of the room, which seemed to be one source of noise. The other was coming from a small group of people writhing around near a coffee table. Zolf grimly took a step toward this, scrunching his face up as he took in all the bare skin. But his instincts were correct- their motions weren't 'love' movements. They were fighting. Well, a few were. Two were debating heatedly a few feet away from the fracas.

Ah, and there was a head of curling chestnut hair. Right at the bottom of the pile, chest down on the table. Three people- paladins?- were wrestling with him, trying to pin him down. One had his shoulders, one appeared to be getting up from being kicked- probably the source of the flying bottle as well- and one was trying desperately to keep a length of rope taught, as the other end was wrapped around Wilde's wrists. He didn't hear Wilde's voice in the cacophony.

He marched over and brought his glaive down, hard, on the shoulder of the one holding the rope. It bit deep, Zolf grimly putting his weight on the blade as it cut through muscles and tendons. The unsuspecting partygoer-gone-mugger screamed and fell. His glaive had sunk so far into their body that it was almost pulled from Zolf's grip as they fell, but he tore it free and went for the next attacker, the one to his left.

Their mouth was in a perfect 'O' of surprise as Zolf struck him with the butt of his glaive, before they could even react. The round end hit him right in the sternum, and he felt the satisfying snap and give of something breaking.

Someone clubbed him in the head from behind, and he staggered.

He whirled with his glaive and missed, took another hit- just a closed fist, the bloke was mostly naked, but fists still  _ hurt _ \- and managed to catch his arm. His fingers dug into all that exposed flesh and sent dark energy into them in a sickening pulse. Wounds opened like mouths, and they buckled with pain.

Just as Zolf gritted his teeth to send another charge of force into the paladin, he felt it from the receiving end, as a bare hand touched his neck, and he roared. It was agonizing, but he managed to keep a grip on his weapon. Something else struck him, and he staggered.

And then the room was full of noise. 

The person in front of him fell, and he saw- Wilde had gotten a hand free, and from that hand, a gag dangled.

Wilde was smiling and singing, mouth wide, the corners tilted upward with delight, pouring forth song and power.

His voice wasn't the little melodious hum it was when he worked small spells, nor was it the sweet caramel tones he used for larger magics. It was pure enchantment, a striking song, spellwork,  _ screaming _ . His whole body was straining with the sound, as he tore the music-magic from his throat and threw it into the room.

The bard-magic-illusion-power swept out like a wave, and Zolf staggered back as what looked like a literal fire of tornado erupted from Wilde's outstretched hand. He quickly tamped down his shock. Illusion magic. Zolf turned to ignore it- until he felt actual heat at his back.

Wilde was an illusionist. He couldn't actually make a firestorm, could he? Zolf had never seen him perform anything other than a trick. But he definitely felt something genuine roaring up behind him.

He had time for his eyes to go wide, but not enough time to turn before a sharp impact struck him like a wall and threw him across the room. He slammed into something and stopped hearing the screaming song.

  
  
  


When he blinked back to awareness and sat up, he knew it had only been a handful of seconds that he'd been out.

He and Wilde were the only ones still moving.

After a quick check over himself- just a big egg on his head from where he'd smacked it on the doorframe, while airborne from whatever Wilde had thrown for magic- he looked to the bard to check on him, slowly struggling to his feet. 

He hastened a bit when he took in what Oscar was doing.

He was entirely naked, lying on his back on the table, knees bent, one tipped to the side, one arm thrown over his head and the other dropped on his own bare chest. His head was lolling, and he was  _ laughing _ .

Whole body giggles and chuckles and belly laughs, eyes closed and mouth wide as the hysteria wracked his body.

Zolf couldn't see a wound on him. Not a bruise or cut, no daggers or darts sticking out of him.

"Wilde.  _ Wilde, _ " he said, marching over quickly as he could. Eyes, now bright green in contrast to the red broken vessels that were smattered through the sclera, turned and finally noticed him. He looked feverish and dazed and hyperfocused all at once.

"Zolf. You're here!" he cried joyously, reaching out his arms without actually standing. Zolf studiously did not break eye contact or look anywhere else.

"I am. And so are you. And neither of us ought to be. What the hell happened?"

"I have been drugged," Wilde declared.

"Good. Great," Zolf said, a bit taken aback. He was clearly manic, but drugged? He'd cast  _ that _ while drugged? He tried not to let it show, how impressed he was, though Wilde was in no state to notice. "And what with, d'y'know?"

"Something delightful. I think they thought-  _ Ithinktheythought- _ that if they drugged me and kept me happy, distracted, dopey, and well fucked, then they could get their ransom. Or price. Or whatever."

"They… what?"

"See, this is why I enjoy the Dionysus crew so much. Their motto is, what, 'liberation, expression, experience', right? Not last night. Last night was more like 'why try and outfight what you can outfuck'. Except they were wrong, and they couldn't outfuck me. But still! I like their line of thought."

"Wilde, you're not actually telling me anything useful right now. You said you've been drugged. Focus. With what?"

"You've got medical knowledge, don't tell me you can't figure it out. I mean, look at the state of me," Wilde snickered, sprawling back over the table. Zolf was absolutely not looking at him. He could feel his cheeks going red.

"Wilde."

"Say my name.  _ Again _ ."

"W- stop that! What did they dose you with?!"

"Yes, fine. Something like ecstasy, mixed with a potent virility potion, maybe a bit of cannabis. Keep me happy, horny, and hallucinating. Honestly, they could've just offered me it up front and I probably would've taken it, and never known anything nefear- nefair- wicked was afoot."

"You were here on a mission, the orgy just so happened to be the location," Zolf reminded him, putting his face in his hands. 

"Oh, right. Then I wouldn't have taken it. But. It was the fact that I realized that I'd been drugged, that's when I knew something was wrong and tried to leave, and they had to go to plan B. I knew I'd been drugged when I was ready to go the fourth time in under two hours- I'm good, but no one is  _ that _ good. Well. No  _ man. _ Did you know that goblins-"

"No. Don't want to. I don't think I can do anything about the drugs. They don't sound permanent or lethal, though."

"Probably not," Wilde breathed, eyes fever bright, then putting his hands over his face and letting out a shaky breath.

"You alright?"

"Mmm. Just very… under the influence. Mostly it's funny. But its also…. A lot." He sat up and fidgeted a little, wincing. "Difficult to think like this." He exhaled carefully again, dropping his hands from his face and flexing them restlessly.

Zolf needed to not look at him. He turned and picked up a sheet and held it behind him without turning. "Here. We can't exactly leave like this."

"Really?  _ I _ don't mind. And it's quite  _ hard _ to wear clothes right now."

" _ Wilde," _ Zolf groaned. He felt the sheet taken from his hand regardless, and waited until the rustling stopped before he turned. Oscar had simply wrapped it loosely over his shoulders and taken a bit of the rope that had been wrapped around his wrists, and tied it belted. It looked like a gown.

"Glad it's loose and got lots of fabric, so we won't be parading your… predicament around."

"Mm, wouldn't want to expose everyone to my pre _ dic _ ament."

"I will leave you here," Zolf threatened. Wilde laughed and pushed himself up from the table.

His legs buckled, and Zolf managed to reach out and catch him, grasping his elbows and taking his weight.

Wilde looked him in the eyes, lips parting slightly. His breathing stuttered, and he swayed closer.

Zolf pulled one arm over his head and turned, propping him up and putting some distance between his mouth and Wilde's. He heard him make a small noise, but didn't look at his face. He couldn't.

"Are you hurt?" Zolf asked sharply, giving him a quick businesslike glance over.

Wilde looked sheepish. Zolf looked away, scowling. 

"Don't tell me they fucked you till you can't walk. That is  _ not  _ a thing."

"Hmm. No, just the drug making me a bit weak legged and dizzy. My knees aren't working right. And that does happen sometimes after an especially good or-"

"Right, got it." He would give his own knees for Wilde to not discuss his physical state after an orgasm, or for him not to say the word 'orgasm' in his ear while fawn-legged and breathy with lust. Drug induced lust, as well. 

"You'd think this would be close to wearing off by now," the bard said weakly. "With sheer volume of sex I've had tonight."

"Probably not something you can work out of your system. Just gonna take time," Zolf said, grim faced, as they limped toward the doors.

"I think it's just gotten worse, every minute."

"We're gonna have to get a carriage, no way I can carry you all the way home. Do you think you'll be okay for that?"

"I can handle a long ride."

Zolf marched them to the door, refusing to look at Wilde's winning smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has discussions of consent, love, romance, opinions on the ethics of fucking, broken logic, and still more nudity.

He purchased them the gentlest looking cart he could find and bundled the bard in, climbing up and sitting on the bench across. He leaned out and shut the door.

Wilde immediately swapped over to the bench beside Zolf and flopped sideways, pillowing his head on Zolf's thighs.

"I just need some touch," he said before Zolf could protest. In the moment he hesitated, taken aback by the fragility in Wilde's voice, he added, "Not like that. Just… contact. I won't do anything."

"No funny business," Zolf asserted.

"None. Not without your explicit and joyous consent, so feel free to give that whenever you're ready," he said with a small smile, then nuzzled back into Zolf's lap and closed his eyes.

Zolf watched him for a long moment, waiting for him to do something lewd, but he looked relaxed and content like this. So he leaned back and waited for them to arrive home.

At some point during the long journey, he absentmindedly started stroking his hair. It had grown since the day he nearly died of nightmares and exhaustion, down to his shoulders in loose waves and curls. It was just as soft as it looked. He wondered what had happened to take it out of all the pretty braids it had been in-

No, stopping that thought right there.

Wilde seemed to be dozing, and Zolf began to drift off as well.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone seized his wrist.

Oscar was looking up at him, eyes wide, all pupil. He held Zolf's wrist tightly, and his teeth were sunk hard into his lower lip.

"Oscar? What's wrong?" Zolf asked quickly. Maybe he'd read the poison wrong. Maybe it was lethal and his insides were melting.

"That is…. not… helping." His other hand grabbed his arm as well and he closed his eyes, taking some slow breaths, holding Zolf's forearm like a lifeline. Like it was the only thing keeping him from sinking under. It took him a moment to realize. The hair stroking. Right.

Zolf noticed his bare feet against the side of the carriage as he brought his knees a bit closer to his chest. His toes flexed and pointed, and Zolf was suddenly strangely aware of how thin and frail skin was, how pale, the arches of his feet like delicate structures, translucent enough for a few veins to be visible, roads of purple and blue.

He looked back at his face. His cheeks were red, hectic with color.

"I'm… fine. I'd just… I'd like to be… home."

"Need some alone time," Zolf guessed. Wilde pursed his lips, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away again. 

"Alone. Hmm. Not preferable, when your body is clamoring for sex, or violence, or anything to satisfy the needs of the b- the blood," he amended at the last second. 

Zolf studied the color of his face again. He’d missed a pun. No, not even missed- he’d intentionally skipped the pun.

Was Oscar Wilde feeling bashful?

"Are you _ sure _ you're not dyin'?" Zolf said incredulously. 

"Not entirely," Wilde said faintly, releasing his hold on Zolf's arm. "I'm walking a fine line. I thought just a bit of contact and soothing would be soothing and satiating. And it was. For a bit. Now it's just…" He exhaled noisily and scrubbed his hands over his face. "It seems to come and go in waves."

"What- sorry, never mind," Zolf said quickly, shaking his head.

"No, go on."

"What can I do? Is there anything I even can do?"

Wilde was already shaking his head, relaxing back onto Zolf's thighs, claimed as his pillow. "No."

"But… this isn't like… yknow."

"I don't know, Zolf, use your words."

"This isn't actually dangerous, is it? Cause I know… fuck-or-die curses. They're a thing. I mean, half myth, they might not be real, but I've heard stories."

"Oh, they're real," Oscar said dryly. Zolf winced.

"Have you…?"

"No. It was a... coworker. Someone… working a position similar to the London Ranger's et al. Recon, espionage, intelligence. There was a caster who had been using it to assassinate or usurp her political opponents in a town, and when one of my team infiltrated the area to sniff around, he got cast on. It requires… very specific ingredients to the target. Ejaculate," he said, rolling his eyes a bit, only just failing to conceal the way he swallowed thickly. Zolf chose not to comment.

"What happened?"

"His team took care of him. Luckily the curse could be treated just by being brought to climax by a partner, it didn't have any more specific biological imperatives. It took all night. We were all exhausted by breakfast time. We caught the caster the next morning, and then slept the whole carriage ride back to Cairo. She had taken out a lot of people by then. I think she was executed."

"Harsh. For making people sleep together?"

"I thought it was just."

"You slept with Bertie."

Wilde took another deep breath, rubbing his hands on his face, shifting a bit on the carriage bench.

"Those who didn't sleep with others died. She murdered a lot of people."

"I've murdered a lot of people. So have you."

"Not like this. They died... in a… unique and exquisite agony."

Zolf thought about that for a second and cringed. "Okay, yeah, that's… not a great way to die. Probably."

"Certainly not," Wilde breathed, fidgeting again.

"Is talking helping?"

"I… perhaps a bit. I'm not sure if the subject matter is helpful or not, and I'm not exactly at my usual conversational level due to a… due to a lack of blood in my brain. But it's distracting me from the current situation."

"And you're sure you're not dying."

"For the last time," he said irritably. "I'm sure."

"What about the other stuff? You said you thought you'd been given some hallucinogens and other stuff?"

"Those abate quite readily with focus. I mean, the world is full of bubbles and color and my depth perception is absolutely wrecked right now. I'm still experiencing some intense visual distortion. But I'm not chasing the elephant, exactly. I'm focusing on reality. Shame, really. This is high quality stuff. Almost seems like a waste of a trip."

Zolf laughed and launched into a series of small stories from his sailing days, things he'd seen folk do when they got just the right mixture of sunstroke, sleep deprivation, dehydration, and motion dizziness. He was talking about the time one of his crewmates had been eating a soft pretzel and was continuously forgetting he had it, realizing it was in his hand, joyously taking a bite, and immediately forgetting again, only to realize and be overcome with excitement again. Mid-story, he noticed Wilde had started flexing his toes again.

"Y'know. If you need to… if you need us to pull over and me to step out for a minute or five," he said gently. Oscar shook his head.

"I'm not going to make you sit outside with your back turned while I rub one out in our carriage," he said flatly. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took a measured breath. "This isn't a drug that makes me impulsive or ignorant or confused or desperate. I can manage my… this. I'm not a teenager with a lack of awareness of hygiene or propriety."

"No, you're just drugged to the nines," Zolf snorted. "And you talk as though you've never fucked in a carriage. Have you never fucked in a carriage?"

Wilde stretched his arms and neck like a cat, smiling at the ceiling, and didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"I would be surprised if fucking yourself in a carriage even made top five of your most risque activities."

"Yes, fine, I live a hedonistic lifestyle. But by choice. I pick my pleasures, for maximum pleasure. Coming alone in a carriage because I've been drugged, whilst making you stand outside and wait, does that sound like good rich hedonism to you? Because it sounds to me more like a chore. Or something shameful and embarrassing."

_ Well the obvious solution is I stay in the carriage and you don't come alone. _

He swallowed the thought, keeping his face carefully impassive. The close quarters, alluding talk, and awareness of Wilde’s needful state was clearly having an odd effect on him. 

"We must be nearly home by now anyways," Wilde said sourly.

"Must be." He was suddenly eager to be home as well. Too tired for this shit. He was clearly exhausted and foolish with it. "Aren't you tired?" he asked, realizing Wilde had been up for just as long as he had, and had almost certainly been doing much more energy demanding tasks.

"No. I'm sure I will be. But right now, sleep is not the most pressing need my body is expressing."

"Right. Got ya."

"I mean, a bed, that is something I certainly want right now."

"Romantic."

"I have a sheet. And this is a nice long bench seat. It's nearly a bed," he said with a grin and suggestive waggle of his brows.

"We may want to burn it after. Gods know where it's been."

"I could return it. And get the recipe for this."

"Get the-?  _ Why _ would you want this again?"

"Spoken like someone who's never come six times in a few hours-"

Zolf made an indignant noise and shuffled over, sliding out from under his head and leaving him to flail to try and not smack his head on the seat. And because Zolf was nothing if not himself, this was a non-victory. The thrash Wilde did to catch himself fetched up his sheet clothes. It slipped off his shoulder and bared one leg up to the hip.

He looked away immediately, but what he saw was already burned into his memory.

"We're almost back. Just think of Bertie and hold yourself together until we get there," Zolf said curtly.

The carriage was thick with the silence for the last ten minutes of the ride. Zolf sat back and tucked his chin, closing his eyes like he was resting, and therefore had no idea what Wilde was doing.

It made every shuffle and sound and exhale seem like it was right in his ear.

Zolf stayed carefully still.

When they stopped, Zolf opened his eyes in time to see Wilde run his hands through his hair and have a full body shiver. Again, he looked away and climbed out of the carriage.

"Thanks for saving me," Wilde said with a dramatic laugh. "Any other time you need a damsel to your night, let me know. Maybe one of these times, you'll get a proper hero's thank you."

"I'm a realist. And real heroes only get cut, so I'll pass on all that, thanks." Wilde was slowly stepping from the carriage, holding his sheet-gown carefully in one hand and gripping the door of the carriage with the other, blinking rapidly. He slowly shifted his weight and stepped down with one foot, then swayed.

"Oh, for- do you need help?!"

"Carry me, my not-hero?" Wilde said with thick sarcasm.

To his credit, Zolf usually was good at not rising to bait. But his "usually" could hardly apply to this, where he was going on 31 hours straight of being awake, the last three of which had been spent in close quarters with his ex-handler-boss who was mostly naked, entirely drugged, exceptionally well-fucked yet still  _ literally _ shivering with need.

He swept him up, bridal-style, and marched him inside. Wilde's delighted laughter was all breath, hot and tantalizing, tickling the corner of his jaw and ear.

He carried him straight to his quarters, to his room, to his bed. Dropped him on it.

Wilde bounced once and opened his mouth- to thank him? to scold him? throw another line, another pun?- and Zolf dropped onto him, one arm beside Wilde's head and the other beside his hip. He trapped him with his arms and pinned him with his hips.

_ Not going anywhere. Here. With me. Mine. _

He stole whatever Wilde was going to say with a kiss. Wilde was done talking. Zolf would shut him up.

His lips were a bit rough, a bit dry. But they were firm and giving, still for a moment before catching up and kissing him back.

Zolf knew Oscar was a… he was… well, to be crass, he was an easy lay. What he could only guess at, but had never been sure about, was what  _ kind _ of lay he was. Impatient and quick? Dirty and a freak? Slow and taunting? Maybe he was a dom. Or a sub. He could be into tantric sex. Toys. Magic. Or vanilla. Maybe he just let folks have their way and playacted the whole thing.

It would be a lie to say Zolf hadn't considered each of these potential Oscar's at some length. Mostly out of platonic curiosity, of course. Nothing more. They worked closely, they'd been through a lot together, it was normal and natural to think about these things.

_ Way to go, Zolf. You read the room wrong again. So wrong you even read your own intentions wrong,  _ he'd realized.

It had apparently taken a full blown sex, drugs, and Dionysus orgy, a near kidnapping, and several hours exposure to horny and half naked Wilde for Zolf to finally get through his own thick skull and realize what he wanted.

He wanted Wilde.

They clicked teeth a few times as they figured each other out, a moment of synchronizing breath and bite, and then they settled into it like it was nature.

Maybe there was something to all Oscar's bluster and pride. He kissing was… Zolf could feel flutters of delight all the way to his fingertips. There was something giving and caring about it, the way he settled into Zolf's motion, mirroring and letting Zolf lead. Despite the urge Zolf could feel hard against his thigh, Oscar didn't push or take. He made no move to be more aggressive or use tongue until Zolf licked into his mouth, and then still let himself be outdone.

It was unexpected. He'd expected him to kiss the way he used his mouth for words- with pride, confidence, always going for the win, the last word, the sharpest and cleverest and fastest blow. And somehow, this surprise made the kiss all the more scintillating. Zolf could feel his body slipping into a hungry urgency, a hazy heat, desire, wanting. He parted his legs and dropped his knees to either side of Wilde's waist, angling his core more sweetly against Wilde's gently undulating body.

Wilde moaned into his mouth, those pale, long-fingered writing hands grabbing two filthy handfuls of Zolf's ass, pulling him tighter against him, egging him on.

Zolf gasped back, and sat up, coming back to himself fully with a shock.

Wilde's chin lifted slightly as he tried to chase his lips, and then tucked defiantly. He didn't let go of Zolf's ass, though stopped writhing under him. Small difference it made, though- Zolf could feel him trembling faintly between his thighs.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait," Zolf panted, putting a hand flat on his sternum as if to hold him down, though Wilde made no move to get up from his reclined position on the bed.

His body screamed contrary. How had Wilde put it earlier? Body clamoring for sex or violence or something. A fuck or a fight. His blood was up- er, literally, he supposed- and it was h- it took a moment to focus.

"You're drugged," Zolf said. Yes. Right. Oscar was drugged. That was something that had happened.  _ And why does that matter?  _ "You're not. Probably. Not in your right mind."

"Probably not, especially with you doing  _ that _ and then  _ this _ ."

"No, I mean- this doesn't count as- I can't take advantage of you like this."

Oscar's mouth opened slightly, eyebrows leaping up, and then he scowled. "I would be doing this stone cold sober."

"That- what you just said could just be the drugs."

"I promise it's not."

"That's what the drugs would say."

Oscar made an angry noise in his throat and rolled his eyes. "Zolf, I have been offering myself up to you for  _ ages _ . Even before I went to the orgy!"

"What, you accusing me of wanting you? Your flirting and innuendos? You say that to  _ everyone _ ."

Oscar's eyes went cold. "You're right. And I sleep with everybody. I don't associate romance or affection or even meaning to sex. It's just a means to and end. I eat when I’m hungry. I breathe air. I fuck when I'm hard. So you're not taking advantage of me, any more than you are if you bake me a cake when I say I'm hungry, or bring me tea if I'm tired. You're welcome to get me off when I'm horny. It's no different.”

This seemed logical in a broken, circular way to Zolf. And something in Wilde's face had closed off. He looked careless and shallow, the same face he had worn when they'd first met and he had ruthlessly seduced Bertie and taunted the unsuspecting mercenary group.

“I’m consenting to this. But okay, maybe the drugs are making me say that. Remember that  _ I don’t associate meaning to sex. _ You’re worried I’m going to hate you for taking advantage of me. I won’t. I won’t care a bit. Because it’s all meaningless to me. Do you get it? So please, Zolf, spare me your care and platitudes and just fuck me. You can have me,” he continued, when Zolf was silent.

He looked unbreakable. Oscar Wilde, the socialite, the meritocratic intel agent, the handler, out of Zolf’s reach, but Zolf easily in his grip.

_ Not like this _ .

Zolf sighed and shuffled back. Oscar frowned, reaching out to cup his cheek.

"Please," he said simply.

He took the hand in both of his and gently kissed the palm, collecting his other hand and brushing his mouth over the knuckles, selfishly indulging in one last taste, one last moment to save in his memory- the feel of that soft, warm skin, the bones beneath, the soul wearing it.

Wilde had offered him what would surely be a memorable night of fucking. It would probably be thorough and exploratory and as tame or wild as he wanted.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want a fuck.

He wanted Wilde.

Not… Wilde's admission of his lack of meaning associated to sex was clearly an attempt to sell it, to get Zolf on board, but it had done the opposite.  _ Not like this _ . He didn't want a meaningless fuck, something that was just fulfilling an urge. He didn't want to just get off. He wanted Wilde, the man, the bard, the irritating bastard, the competent and clever aristocratic writer, the real smile, the honesty. He didn’t want what Bertie had wanted and gotten. As far as his own pleasure went- "a means to and end"- he didn't give a rat's ass. His desire wasn't his desire. Wilde was his desire.

"I'll bring you some food and water. Try and stay hydrated. Do what you need. I'll put a mute spell around your room so you don't have to.. restrain yourself. Do you need me to lock you in?"

Wilde's mouth twisted with disgust. "No."

"Fine. Take care, Oscar."

The bard was silent and still as Zolf left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for all those beholding me and inspiring me to ACTUALLY FINISH THIS. There will be one more chapter after this. bless yall who've come along for the ride and suffering through these angry angsty boys being all broken at each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE THERE BE SEX

"How was the or-"

Zolf was already letting the kitchen door slam behind him, not waiting to hear what Carter had to say. His hands were carefully steady as he retrieved some of the focaccia he'd baked yesterday. He dug some prosciutto and cheese out of their ice box and mindlessly made a dozen pinwheels, and julienned a cucumber for the side. He got a glass and a jug of water and breezed back through without looking at Carter.

Carter just followed him. "So you got him, then?"

"Yep."

"He alright?"

"Yep. Just needs to- to sleep it off," he said curtly.

"Gods, was he that bad? What happened?"

"He's fine."

Carter snorted, but fell back, leaving Zolf alone.

He put the tray of food ( _ water and protein, finger foods, suitable for a day in bed _ ) outside the door, knocked once, and then laid his palm on the door, looping a silencing spell around the room.

Sleep. He was exhausted. He limped to his own room, shoulders down, feeling like his very soul was dragging behind him. Physically exhausted, from being up for… for… a while. He was too mentally exhausted to count how many hours. His head felt heavy.

He slept.

  
  


When Zolf woke the next morning, early, having slept from early afternoon the day before- right through dinner and the night after- he was refreshed and ravenous. For a happy few moments, he stretched, trying to remember if he had anything to do today and coming up blank. It was barely dawn, and a whole day to himself. Maybe he would go fishing. He thought there had been  _ something _ to be excited for, or anticipating, at least…

Ah. Right.

He considered hiding out for a bit longer, but that would only drag it out- and gods knew what Oscar would say to Barnes and Carter, better to just head it off before the bastard bard started playing up the rumor mill. And he really was hungry.

Attaching and strapping on his prosthetics, he realized he probably had the jump on Oscar anyways. Zolf had gone right to sleep, whereas it was unlikely that Oscar had gotten any sleep for a while yet. He wondered how long it had taken for him to-

No. Stop.

_ Not for you _ .

What was he going to tell the others? 

He put the musing away for breakfast thoughts, and headed for the kitchen.

As expected, he was the only one up. It was hellishly early for Carter, though Barnes was an early riser. But the cold kitchen hearth was proof that nobody else was around. He got the fire going quickly and set a pot of coffee percolating.

He was just starting on the second batch of bacon when Barnes wandered in, pouring himself a cup of coffee and going to sit out in the dining room with a book. Barnes wasn’t usually ready for words or company for a while yet. This gave Zolf time to firmly tell himself what had happened last night, several times, with no details or anything odd. He would simply leave out all the scandalous parts.

When Carter showed up, the peace and quiet was gone immediately, but he expected that. “Are you gonna tell us what happened?” he demanded, pouring milk into a cup before adding coffee.

“I got him back.”

“Alright, great. How? Why was he still there? Did something go wrong? Is he okay?”

“Wilde is  _ fine _ ,” Zolf huffed, pouring eggy batter into another pan. “He got drugged sometime that evening, and was still partying when I arrived yesterday morning. Well, he had been, but at that point they were tying him up. I cut down some of them, he got free and we kicked their asses. I threw him in a carriage and we got back. And he was still pretty doped up, so I brought him some food, locked him in his room, and went to bed.”

Barnes nodded and turned back to his book. 

“Why were you in such a foul mood yesterday afternoon, then?” Carter pressed. They had hired him because he was good at digging into things. Now they were getting what they deserved. Zolf breathed out through his nose slowly.

“Because I had been up all night waiting for him to come back.”

Carter’s mouth curled up at the corners, and Barnes looked up from his book to give him a flat stare.

“Because I am  _ invested in keeping everyone alive _ ,” he added scathingly.

“Right,” Carter said pleasantly, smiling widely.

“They’ll figure it out,” Barnes said.

_ Zolf, I have been offering myself up to you for ages. _

“He’s probably still sleeping it off,” Zolf mumbled, feeling sourly like no one was listening to him.

Oscar never appeared for breakfast, and he would only be lying to himself if he thought that didn’t give him relief. He wasn’t sure what to say to him. What he would say back. How they were supposed to be around each other. Zolf had rescued him from an orgy and seen him naked and- and- and then the carriage ride, his head on his lap, and the puns, the come-on’s, the innuendo’s, the kiss. The exit. His retreat, that at the time felt dignified and respectable but now felt more like a shameful flight. He’d literally kissed and ran. Gods. Coward.

Zolf wondered if he’d shown his hand with that kiss. Did Oscar know how he cared for him now? Or did he think he hated him? Would he still flirt? Or would he be nothing but dry and professional to Zolf from now on?

Whatever.  _ Whatever _ . Worrying about it made no difference.  _ What’s done is done, worry’ll change it none _ , he told himself furiously, an old sailing mantra. He knew he had to see Oscar again eventually. They worked together, for goodness sake. It wasn’t like he could avoid him forever, so he may as well get to it.

This belligerent statement firmly in mind, he collected some leftovers from breakfast, once Carter and Barnes had gone off somewhere else, and went to Oscar’s rooms.

The door was open, and he stuck his head inside, trying to not think much about yesterday.  _ Is the bed terribly rumpled? Are there any stains? Or items, like- _

He stopped that thought.

_ Does it smell like- _

Didn’t think that. Nope.

“Wilde?” he called, suddenly incapable of moving beyond the threshold. There was a sound, and then Oscar emerged from his en suite, still holding a hairbrush.

A moment ago, he had been looking for him. Now he could hardly look at him at all. He glanced down at the plate in his hands.

“Brought you breakfast,” he said to the pancakes.

“Oh. Thank you. I would’ve come and gotten something.”

“‘S no trouble.”

The room was silent for a long, loudly awkward moment.

“So should I-”

“D’you-”

Another silent moment. Zolf felt like his teeth were loosening in his jaw.

“Sorry. Right. Is everyone else done breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Oscar walked toward him, and Zolf held out the plate.

The bard stepped around him and pulled the door shut. Zolf's heart did a single hard slam in harmony with the sound.

“I came by at breakfast, but couldn't seem to make it past the threshold. I realized… I wasn't entirely sure what to say,” Oscar said suddenly, his voice light and businesslike. He took the plate from his hands and set it on a table by the door. “I didn’t know if you had told the others a fabrication, or what role we now have in regards to each other.”

“I told them you were drugged, and didn’t say anything beyond that,” Zolf said, caught off guard by the serious talk, still glancing around, aware that he was being evasive but unable to be anything else.  _ We’re supposed to work together. Get your shit together, Zolf. The world is a mess and you can’t fuck it up because you now know what his mouth tastes like and what he looks like har- _

Stop.

Wilde spoke.

“Okay. How would you like to proceed?”

Zolf blinked and couldn’t stop himself from a glance at him. His face was expectant, earnest, looking genuinely caring.  _ You’ve seen him work, you know this is what he does, what he isn’t, he acts- _

“How… what? With what?”

“Us. Do you want to go back to acting like yesterday never happened? Or do you want me to stop flirting with you and being so forward with you?”

“I… er.” Zolf had never considered that he would have a choice. He knew things were changed. But he’d never thought he would get to pick which way things went. He blanked. What was Wilde saying?

“I should say,” Wilde said, still speaking with that light businesslike tone he used for persuading people of things and withholding information, “I apologize that my flirtation and innuendo were so uncomfortable for you. I… I should have asked permission, or your opinion, at least, before talking to you like that. I’m usually good at reading the room, telling who is genuinely uncomfortable with that sort of thing- sorry, though that sounds like an excuse, and there is no excusing my behavior.”

“Oscar…”

“You can call me Wilde, if that’s easier.” Zolf winced. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped calling him Wilde. Realized that he’d been given permission ( _ requested _ ) to do that while he was drugged. So it didn’t really count, did it?

Did it?

“Is… is that what you want?” He couldn't prevent himself from asking. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t proper. Obviously Zolf wasn’t to read into it, the man had been drugged and tripping and- and… intoxicated, under duress, all sorts of things that meant you can’t actually do what they say, that none of it counts.  _ You kissed him while he was drugged, intoxicated, under duress, you took adv _ -

Now the bard looked taken aback. “I… I’m not worried about what I want here, Zolf. I made my wants very clear, and you made yours clear as well. Thank you for the clarity. Now we need to decide what to do about this.”

“I… I don’t think I made my wants clear at all, actually,” Zolf said slowly, starting to realize what Wilde was going on about. “And you- what you said didn’t count. You were drugged. But I- I was… I wasn’t. Drugged. I was sober, and I was- I took… Wait. You- you think I don’t want you?”

“You explicitly expressed that you don’t want me and are repulsed by my casual take on sex and flirtation, and don’t want me to talk to you like I talk to everyone else,” Wilde stated flatly. “And that’s okay, I respect your choices and-,”

He’d stopped talking because Zolf had put his hand over his eyes.

“I’m an idiot. No you’re an idiot. We both are,” Zolf mumbled, scrubbing the hand down his face. “We… it’s- I’m…. Okay, look. You’re… not wrong that I’m a little repulsed by your casual take on sex and whatever. But not… Repulsed is a little strong of a word. I just mean it’s not for me. I do have very meaningful sex. I don’t just fuck. I have relationships. I like people.. I don’t… I don’t want just a quick fuck and then to go down as just another one you slept with that one time. I don’t want anything casual. Yeah, I rejected it last night. I didn’t- I didn’t want to reject you.  _ You _ rejected you. You weren’t offering me you, Oscar Wilde, you were offering me sex. Well, I don’t care about sex. I care about you.”

Right. That was out with it, then. No way to misinterpret that.

Oscar did as he tended to do and proved him wrong. He smiled faintly and cocked his head. “You… yes. I care about you too, Zolf. And-,”

“No,” Zolf said, cutting him off. “Not like that. Not like I care about the rest of the team. I’m bringing you breakfast because I like your company and I think about your health and wellbeing, and I want to see you. I want to see you all the time. I like looking at you, I think you’re beautiful. And listening to you, and talking to you, because you’re smart and unapologetic and so good at owning a conversation and making me feel comfortable. You make me fight, with you, yeah, sometimes. But you make me fight all the bad things. You’re an inspiration, and a hope, and yeah, okay, I think about how you fuck and how sex would be with you, but I don’t- I want- it’s not like… I did not want what you were offering yesterday,” he said slowly, carefully stating each word so it wouldn’t be twisted or confused. “I do want you. As you are. All of you.”

Oscar’s lips had slightly parted, and he stared at him, eyes bright and inscrutable.

“Well?” Zolf finally exclaimed. He crossed his arms, aware it was a defensive stance but unable to leave himself so exposed. “Say somethin! I just-”

“I love you.”

Zolf’s mouth dropped open, and he snapped it shut. Then opened it again and made a choking sound before he was able to speak. “You- you can’t just- can’t just say that!”

“But it’s true.”

_ I love you _ . Romantic. He was livid. “You- we’re not- this isn’t even… we haven’t even defined this yet!”

“Well, define it around that, then. We now have something straightforward and undoubtable to work around. Takes the confusion and uncertainty right out of it,” Wilde said with a careless laugh. Not the party laugh, the gentle huffling of breath at a dinner party or at a not-funny joke from someone important. It was one of those laughs that pushed up on his cheeks and made his eyes squint and nose wrinkle. It didn't make him beautiful. It made him honest.

His eyes were maybe squinted a little more than usual.

And of course, Zolf could read him like a book. He was nervous. Zolf knew this, he knew him, because-

_ -well, dammit- _

Zolf knew this, he knew him, because- "I love you too. Fine."

His laugh suddenly stopped. “You don’t have to-”

“Back at you. I’m- I know I don't have to. I wouldn't if I didn't mean it. I honest to goodness love you,” Zolf said hotly.

“... really?”

“C’mon, Oscar, you know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true.”

Oscar nodded, slowly, then more certainly. “Okay. Right. We love each other. Now… now what?”

Zolf spoke bluntly. “Can I kiss you?”

Oscar’s next word was spoken intently, a single word, a humble, bare, soulful plea. “ _ Please _ .”

Zolf did, reaching for his collar and yanking him down to seal his mouth against his.

And then it was just like they’d never left the bed yesterday. He was still a brilliant kisser (Zolf had never doubted him, of course, but he had been on a lot of drugs) and immediately began to lead him backwards into the room, so they could literally pick up where they’d left off.

“What, really?” Zolf muttered against his lips, as Oscar fell back onto the bed and tugged Zolf up onto his lap, hands gripping his thighs and settling him in, straddled over him.

“I didn’t stop thinking about what would happen after this. All day yesterday. Do you know how long the effects of the drug lasted? I thought of nothing but you for  _ hours _ ,” Oscar said breathlessly, moving his lips feverishly over his jaw to lap and nibble at his earlobe. Zolf sucked in a breath, both at the heat on his sensitive earlobe, and at the mental image of Oscar getting himself off again and again with Zolf’s name on his lips. He was almost dizzy from the speed at which the blood under his skin shifted and surged.

“You know I couldn’t, last night.”

“I know. It would’ve… we would’ve never gotten to this,” Oscar murmured, pulling back to look directly into Zolf’s eyes. “I love you.”

“Fuck,” Zolf swore in a quiet gasp, squeezing his thighs around his waist, his body all too willing to jump right back to all that anticipation and pent up desire.

“Say it. Say how you feel,” Oscar hissed, pulling him back down to speak right into his ear. The sibilant syllables were ticklish in a shivery, sensitive way, making Zolf go tense on him. Oscar clearly noted this, as Zolf could feel his smile, then another rough shiver went through him as the man ran his tongue up the rim of his ear and nibbled at the pointed tip. Zolf whimpered, taking a second to find his words.

“I love you.” At his words, Oscar dug his fingers into his ass and dragged their hips against each other. Zolf groaned through his teeth and said it again. “I love you.”

Oscar slid his hands up his rear until his thumbs slipped under his shirt and brushed over his low back, stroking the dimples above his hip. “I love you,” he breathed, pulling his shirt up. Zolf let him take it off, beginning to work on the buttons on his shirt.

“I love you,” he said, already breathless, yanking his shirt open and running greedy hands up his chest.

Yesterday had been hell, the days before it, not much better. He’d watched Wilde buff and shine himself for an orgy, looking on from the doorway as he prepared himself to be ravaged. By a bunch of strangers. People who weren’t him were going to get to do so much more than just watch that beautiful man. They would put hands and mouths on him, in him, fuck him, be fucked by him. And then he’d disappeared, and Zolf had to wonder if he was just dead in a ditch somewhere. Finding him bound- just the memory of it made him seethe. Seeing him naked and beaten, pinned, thrashing, all that pale skin and boney limbs so helpless as he was held down, to be taken like lamb to slaughter, to the enemy, and if Zolf hadn’t found him, he may have never seen him again- and then fighting, and then drugged and not himself, flirting with Zolf and resisting, resisting, being cold for him, dying inside as he resisted the urge for the both of them and turned him down, rejection, exhaustion-

He would go through hell and worse again, just to have made it here.

He leaned down so they were chest to chest, flush, as close to him as he could get- gods, he wanted him, he wanted to get under his skin and never leave, crawl into all that smirk and swagger, afix himself so he could forever be safe and guarded- and sealed their mouths together. He licked into him and recognized that Wilde-  _ Oscar _ \- was letting him lead, taking a backseat in the kiss and letting Zolf take what he needed.

He took.

He  _ needed _ .

Zolf breathed in his air and set his teeth to that fat ever-pouting lower lip. Those damn lips.  _ These _ damn lips. Zolf had them now, he had his lips and mouth and tongue and-

He made a noise high in his throat as he shifted up slightly to kiss him better and felt his hardness under his ass, pressing up. He could barely catch his breath, like he’d been running for his life- for this- chasing, for so long-

His hands caught Wilde’s shoulders and shoved him down, pressing him into the bed. He fell back with his eyes closed, mouth still parted and chin lifting to try and chase the kiss, and Zolf felt his mind lock in on that image. He knew he would have the picture of him, fluttering eyelids and reaching mouth, in his mind forever. His neck bared, that long column of skin just begging to be bit and marked, the sharp angle of his jaw- he delighted in giving into the desire to mouth at his jaw, to feel the shape of his bones beneath his mouth and tongue.

Wilde moaned, unrestrained, unabashed, and Zolf loved him a bit harder. The man knew how to be in bed, and he didn’t hold back with nerves or self consciousness. A beautiful person was just that, but a beautiful person who knew they were beautiful and shared it comfortably was truly exceptional.

Zolf was aware he had tilted his hips and was slowly rutting against his waist, dragging his cock- fuck, he was so hard already and they’d barely begun undressing, fucking sexy bastard- against the plane of his stomach, squeezing his thighs around him.

“Outta this,  _ now _ ,” he growled, hands flying to his trousers, giving them an impatient tug. Oscar reached for the ties and undid them quickly, efficiently. Zolf watched his fingers, having to swallow at how his own mouth watered. He desperately wanted something in his mouth.

He didn't have to just want anymore.

If he wanted, could have it.

He barely let him finish opening his trousers before catching one of his hands and dragging it up to his own face, licking up his longest finger and then sinking his lips down over it. Oscar obediently pressed down on his tongue and slid in as far as he could, making Zolf hum with satisfaction as he grasped Oscar’s trousers and tugged them down. He lifted his hips, arching further into Zolf, letting him slip them down over the curve of his ass.

Skies, was that really his ass? The man was built like his sole purpose was to fuck. A perfect and taut handful-and-more of muscle. Zolf wanted to rub his cheeks on his ass, burrow into it with his entire face, knead it with his hands, whatever it took to make Oscar sob and scream. The sheer perfection of his ass was a challenge. He wanted to test his palms against him, sure it would be the loudest spanking of his life.

He sucked on Wilde’s finger, and the man slid it almost all the way out of his mouth, then sank back in with two more. Zolf swallowed around them, making Wilde make a soft  _ oh _ sound. He felt his knees splay a bit wider beneath him, and was suddenly impatient, desperate to take himself in hand and just come on him, drag his bare cock over his chest and stomach and come gasping and doubled over, painting him with his spend.

Another time. He needed more than his own hand, and though a dirty rut was tempting, he still wanted more.

He took Wilde’s hand out of his mouth and shoved it toward his pants, and he obediently undid them and helped him slide out of them with minimal loss of contact.

Now they were both naked.

Yesterday, seeing Oscar on the table, dizzy, laughing, erect- he’d tried not to look. Had done a pretty good job. Now he let himself. He shuffled back to kneel between his legs and give himself a chance to really look, and welcoming Oscar to look back.

He was broad shouldered, surprisingly so. The way he dressed made him seem slender, gangly in a scholarly way, but bared revealed those shoulders and arms were thick, strong, born for farm work, labor, the long reach and heft of a boxer. Zolf wanted to come on that too, his muscle and the curve and bend and strength- all that ogry business had made him territorial, it would seem. His legs were strong too (territorial and pack-esque as he was, he could only just resist mounting one of those strong thighs and grinding himself to completion) and long, ending in wide feet with toes that kept curling and flexing.

There was something endearing about Oscar in bed, unexpectedly. Zolf had been anticipating sexy, controlling or submissive or kinky or lackadaisical. He had no idea that everything Wilde did would be so earnest and shamelessly expressive. He was smiling-  _ beaming _ \- and completely at ease with his nudity and obviously aroused state, his chest showing fast and hungry breaths, his arms tensing and relaxing with desire, and those damn toes. Seeing Zolf observing him, he lifted his chin slightly, baring his neck, and Zolf took the invitation to dive down and taste the fragile skin there, licking up the fragile skin and breathing in the scent of him.

He began to work his way down, over the collarbones wrapped in all his hidden muscle and strength, tracing the surge of his pecs with his lips, breathing over a pebbled nipple before flicking it teasingly with his tongue.

Oscar wasn’t just unabashed with his body. He was  _ loud _ , making a low wail as Zolf tapped and laved at his nipple, alternating between sides with his mouth and fingers. He kissed across his chest to his side, pressing into his flesh with his tongue and mouth to feel his ribs, savoring the hardness and bone that built him.

_ Mine _ , he thought, possessive, hungry. He could feel his own heartbeat hard and fast in his chest, in his swollen and hot fingers, in his aching cock. Oscar’s was just as tangible under his lips.

“I want you to do everything to me. I want you to fuck me, to ride me, to suck me off, to get off on me,” Oscar breathed, his voice low with want, a rumble of carnality. Zolf nearly whimpered just at that. Maybe he was weaving bardic magic into his words. Maybe Zolf was just that far gone. Maybe he was just that sexy.

“I will. Eventually. It’s still early, and I can cure our fatigue,” Zolf said, feeling his cock throb as he thought about it all. He’d yet to test out his spells of healing and restoration in the bedroom.

“Then  _ exhaust me _ ,” Wilde groaned, bending his knees and thrusting his hips up.

“Greedy," Zolf laughed against his hip. "Mine."

“Make me your whore. Make me  _ scream _ ,” Wilde begged, reaching down and palming his own dick, his other hand tugging his hair and showing off the arch of his back and neck. He was clearly trying to get Zolf to do more.

Zolf was hardly one to cave, but he wasn’t in any state to resist Oscar’s wiles. He batted Oscar's hand away, licked up the thick drop of precum at the tip of his cock, and then took him down.

Wilde’s gasp was nearly a scream as Zolf sank onto his prick, lips tight around his shaft, salt and the warm downy taste of intimacy and skin exploding over his tongue. Wilde still had one hand pulling his own hair, but the other fluttered in the air as he gasped for breath. Zolf absently reached up with the hand that wasn’t feeding his cock into his mouth, and laced their fingers together, humming contentedly at the connection.

So what if he liked holding hands while he sucked cock? Everyone had their kinks. One of his happened to be romance.

Another was that he  _ really _ enjoyed having his throat full.

He swallowed once, preparing himself, took a careful breath, and sank fully down, feeling the hot velvety head of Wilde’s member slip down the back of his tongue, a proper mouthful of dick, as full as his mouth could get. He kept a careful control of his reflexes9+ as he settled him into his throat, and then swallowed again.

Wilde cried out, a ripple of movement going through his hips, and Zolf pressed a hand into his low back encouragingly. He could hardly tell him what he wanted, stuffed as he was, but Wilde seemed to get the memo, giving one more tenative buck before beginning to fuck his throat properly. Like he  _ meant _ it.

He felt like the noises of pleasure Oscar was making was for the both of him, because gagged as he was, he was in  _ heaven. _

And the noises he was making.  _ Oh.  _ Zolf had heard others describe someone’s voice as ‘pure sex’. They meant they sounded nice, probably.

Oscar’s voice was genuinely and unmistakeably  _ pure sex _ .

There were literal sparks in the air, phantom ripples like heat waves and glittering lights not unlike a concussion. Wilde was moaning and keening, somehow all at the same time, a multi-layered cry of impossibility, a chorus, a choir. 

Wilde was rare and complex instrument Zolf was playing, that played a sound so stirring and sweet. He was honoured. He was enamored. He was ensorcelled.  _ Enchanted _ .

Zolf felt his own breathing speed up, heat pooling heavy and potent between his legs. By the depths, was he going to come untouched? He didn’t even feel shame for it, he just  _ wanted _ . Oscar’s voice was stopped abruptly with a muffled sound, and Zolf cut his eyes up.

He met Oscar’s eyes, and felt another jolt of urgency through his own prick at his pupils, blown wide, the fervor so clear in them. And then he realized why his musical voice had cut off. He still hand one hand gripping his own hair. The other was pressing the corner of his mouth, a few fingers stuffed in his mouth to silence himself.

He couldn’t stand it. No more fooling around. He needed to see him come, make him feel the same pleasure he felt whenever he thought of him, make him feel so good, watch him crash over the edge, watch him fall apart. He slowly pulled off his cock, sure to leave him slick with drool, and climbed up his body.

All the air left his lungs when he lined their hips up and pressed his cock against Oscar’s.

“Zolf,  _ please _ ,” Oscar mumbled around his fingers, voice creaking as he arched his back again. Pride fluttered through him as he realized he'd done that, he had made that exquisite instrument that was the bard Oscar Wilde crack. Zolf ducked his head to lick his nipple again, and while he was distracted, reached down to wrap a hand around both their lengths, still slick with his spit.

Wilde  _ keened. _

And then he grabbed his hand and stopped him.

Zolf looked up, suddenly panicked. In the stop, it was like the back end had all caught up with him.

He'd kissed him. Said he loved him. Took him to his bed, took him into his throat, stripped him down and himself down too. Had Oscar suddenly changed his mind? Had he still been drugged, and the fog had just cleared and he'd come to his sensibilities,  _ no actually, I don't want this tactless faithless two-thirds of a dwarf, this all has been a huge no, a tiny and insignificant misunderstanding. Considering this all happened in the space of an hour. Please don't forget your pants when you leave, and close the door behind you. I'll see you at work, which is also our entire life. _

"I want you to fuck me," Oscar said, and all the air went out of Zolf in a rush of needless tension and less than melodic noise.

"What if I want  _ you _ to fuck  _ me _ ?" Zolf said. It surprised both of them, and then Oscar lit up the room brighter than sunlight with a beaming grin, ferociously joyful and scorching the moment of uncertainty from Zolf's mind in a pure loving blaze.

"I would love to, but- I'm… well, not only am I still fairly…  _ prepared _ , but I'm rather raw. I spent almost an entire day working off the effects of weaponized aphrodisiac drugs, I was not exactly careful with myself and in retrospect I should've had a much more frictionless palm…. Could we save that for another time?"

Zolf shivered, momentarily caught up in the image of Wilde fucking his fist in feverish abandonment, sweating drugs and sex, too impatient for lotion or even spit to ease his pleasure-

"Right, yeah, that makes sense." The rest of his words finally clicked properly. "Oh, hellfire, do you want healing-?"

"No, nothing that severe," Wilde said, maneuvering around gracefully, with the ease of someone who spent a good deal of time naked and knew exactly what they looked like from every angle, every motion sure with certainty that it was done with maximum appeal, moving art. He stopped when he was on knees spread wide and hands planted firmly under his shoulders, back with just the right amount of bow to it, ass proudly presented to Zolf.

He couldn't- well, he  _ could _ help it, but he didn't try. He grabbed his ass in two solid handfuls, giving the perfect taut globes a generous squeeze, and then cracked a palm over one side.

The satisfying smack stung his palm and was accompanied by a gasp and a short, surprised laugh from Wilde. His flesh was already going red, and it barely trembled. Raw muscle.

Zolf noted that away- for a desk jockey, he sure kept strong.

He noticed the red hue was creeping up his spine, a flush finally spreading over the pale expanse of skin, the unexpected smack fully breaking his reserves. Oscar blushed with his whole body, it would seem. Zolf chased it, mouthing up his spine, laying himself over him. He took a moment to be petty and bite at the meritocratic brand on his shoulderblade, like he could lick away the claim. At the very least, he could leave his own brand, tooth marks and spit.

The possessiveness rose in him again, and he filed away the decision to come on his back for something to do later. Then he paused.

"If you're undercover so much, isn't it a bit stupid to brand you?" he asked. Wilde turned his head to give him a look like he'd just started speaking in tongues.

"I usually cover it with makeup and magic. Not all who work for the dragons have them," Wilde said huskily, arching and flexing under Zolf's mouth. just those who came into service unwillingly and were high risk of leaving or going double agent. Most who have them don't spend as much time naked as I do. And they've mostly stopped doing it, it was more of a phase." He ducked his head to kiss the hand that had braced on his shoulders, thick dark dwarven fingers on pale posh skin. "Does it bother you?"

"No," Zolf said honestly. If anything, it inspired him- he would treat him better than the dragons, he would fuck their names right out of Wilde's mouth. He didn't give a shit about all the nobility and honor that was attributed to dragons. They had lost this, they'd left Oscar and the rest of the world, and Zolf would do better than them.

"To be honest," he began, and it was only because his lips were in contact with his spine that he felt Wilde tense up. It wasn't visible, wasn't anything he could've ever noticed otherwise. But he felt it and immediately scoffed, right against his nape, making him shiver again. "Honesty isn't always a bad thing, Oscar."

"Not always a good thing, either," he sing-songed back. Zolf rolled his eyes and let him have the last word. For now.

"To be honest," he tried again. "I'd actually rather you on your back. Unless you had your heart set on it like this," he said, punctuating his statement with another hard squeeze of his ass.

"My heart is set on you, however you'd have me," Wilde said wryly, the earnesty raw in his tone.

"See? That's some good honesty," Zolf said. Wilde laughed and twisted in his arms, letting him taste his mirth as they settled back face-to-face.

The laughter stammered when Zolf broke the kiss to lick his own hand, gathering spit with his fingers, and the stammer turned to a shudder when his fingers stroked along his cock, gliding over his sack, hesitating on his taint to give a gentle knead to the tender flesh there. Further, Zolf pulling back from the kiss for a moment to focus, just sharing hot breath as he felt the furl of his ass under his fingers.

_ Gods, he still was slick _ . Not properly, heavily wet, but he certainly wasn't dry, the evidence of the previous day letting him bloom open around Zolf's pressing touch with barely any resistance.

"Didn't you just wash?" Zolf whispered, feeling that the intimacy of being inside him, if only just barely, called for hushed breathy bed-voice, not the breaking tone of loud speech.

"Like I said, I was a bit raw. Wasn't- wasn't exactly scrubbing hard," he murmures unsteadily, licking his lips. Zolf narrowed his eyes at him and bent the tip of his finger in further, catching his rim and giving it a small tug.

"Honesty is good," he reminded him as Wilde's face twisted something wonderful.

"I-I-I like feeling like this. I like feeling wet and stretched," he gasped. He sank his teeth into his lip and arched his neck as Zolf rewarded him by pushing the rest of his finger in him, as far as he could reach. Whatever Wilde had been doing was splendid - he slid right in, taunt and silky slick without fighting tension and friction.

"You like walking around wet? Spending your day swaggering about, ass slick, just hoping someone will- what, just bend you over your desk and take you there and then?" Zolf said gruffly, pressing his insides with his finger, pulling mostly out and teasing his rim with a second finger.

"I- I may have caught myself in such a daydream. Perhaps you featured in it too."

Zolf groaned, burrowing his face in his neck, and began to fuck him with his fingers, no longer just feeling and stretching. Face to his throat like this, he could feel more than hear him making soft sounds, and felt when they changed from pleasure to pleading.

"What was that?"

"Your cock,  _ please _ ."

"What about it?" Zolf said candidly, gently slipping his fingers out of him to wrap them around his own neglected length. He was well on his way to soaked from just precum, the spectacle beneath him plenty to get him well past hard.

Wilde suddenly moved his legs- long, powerful, sure legs, and so flexible as well, to no one's surprise- hooking behind Zolf's waist and pulling the other up to his chest, bowing to bring his hole right up to Zolf's hips and Zolf's hips right against his.

"I've been thinking about you for days. Stuffed full of my own fingers, trying to fuck myself into the bed, humping my own hand like a goddamn teenager. Wishing it was you. Fantasizing as hard as I could till I came like a concussion, coming to your name, and realizing I was alone.  _ I'm out of patience _ ," he hissed, digging his heel into the base of Zolf's spine.

It was Zolf's turn to shiver when his cock brushed the fever-hot, slick-silk skin of his groin, his taint warm and soft on his shaft, the sink of his ass nudging his head.

"I love you," he said, because he was a romantic. And because he was also obedient, he finally took himself in hand and pressed in.

He opened like a gift.

By the time he was fully rooted in him, Zolf had curled around him, forehead pressed to his sweat-soaked chest, gasping. He was so hot and tight, squeezing and rubbing him like it was all he was made for. Like he was made to be here, like this, wrapped around Zolf's cock.

"Zolf,  _ please _ . You don't have to stop," Oscar was saying, giving little bucks of his hips, digging his heel in again, fingertips pressing divots into Zolf's shoulders. "How many times do I have to ask you,  _ please _ fuck me."

Zolf's lip curled up in a silent snarl and went to work.

He dragged himself back, close to but not out, and slammed home again. Oscar huffed with the impact, legs tightening on him encouragingly.

Back. And forward.

Again.

Again.

The bed rocked with every long thrust, until Oscar frowned, hummed a tune, and gestured. It stabilized, giving Zolf an easier time focusing on ramming him.

Slowly, as the pleasure and heat ratcheted up, as the sweat got thicker and Oscar was able to meet his motion with rolls of his own hips, Zolf watched the expressions blossom over his face. First he was going more taut, yearning, focusing on taking his pleasure, brow furrowed and chin tucked. But as he started slamming him harder, faster, tilting his pelvis to drive that tiny bit deeper, his face relaxed. His mouth opened and he gasped with every drive, the furrow between his brow disappearing as he let himself be overtaken by the simple carnality of a good fuck.

Zolf grabbed his other leg, stil bent up to his chest, and dropped it over his shoulder.

His gasps turned to little  _ huh, huh, huh _ sounds as Zolf sped up, trading the long strokes for harder, faster, taking cues from how Wilde's mouth hung wider, how his fingertips dug into Zolf's back. Plowing him.

Gods, he needed this. Watching Oscar prance around as he did, every step, gesture, and word carefully constructed to be alluring. He was sex on legs, and Zolf had been forcing himself to ignore it for ages now. He needed this. He  _ needed  _ him. To claim him, come on him, in him, with him. There was a fire in his belly and sparks starting to sing along his nerves and the only way out was through, to follow through, pass through, up and over the cliff he was steadily headed for.

It was clear that Oscar needed this too, and Zolf took a special pleasure-pride in how loose-limbed and wanton he was. Finally, a crack in all that perfect sharp veneer. He'd begun to murmur and grind back against him, sweat clumping the hair around his temples, sticking it to his face, gathering in the little cleft between his upper lift and nose.

Zolf wanted him to chase his own pleasure. To not fuck him like he was trying to win, like he fucked all the marks and fools like Bertie, but to get his. He wanted to see Oscar as himself and only himself, greedy and rude, selfish, mind narrowed to only his own needs.

He leaned up and licked the sweat from his lips the same time he drove into him, and Oscar groaned, fingertips digging deep as Zolf bent him further, sinking deeper, fucking up against the more sensitive and precious parts of him.

"Zolf, Zolf, oh, please, yes, just- that, yes," Oscar whimpered, pressing his chest up. Zolf didn't neglect the invitation to drag the flat of his teeth over a nipple, making Oscar keen.

He was driving harder, faster still, starting to feel the burn in his muscles as he tried to ignore his own base need to come and focus on making Wilde fall apart. He bent him further and crashed into his mouth, one hand holding a bent leg for stability, the other buried in Wilde’s hair, locks tight around his fingers, threads of slender gold rope to keep him moored in the tidal push-pull.

To his satisfaction, Oscar continued to bend beneath him until he was folded under him, contorting without protest- instead, softly gasping for  _ more _ . Zolf folded over him, trying to get closer, further, deeper. He marveled at how they fit around each like puzzle pieces, slotting their curves and arches together, a picture, a world, a place for them to meet in connected lines and color. They were all that existed for each other, the drag and pound, the shared spit and air, sparking nerves and sliding skin.

Zolf could tell Oscar was getting close by how his kissing had ceased. His mouth was open and still brushing his, but gasping, brow furrowed as he focused on his pleasure. Zolf could feel himself starting to crest, chasing air as he rode the surging ecstasy rising in his skin. He opened his eyes to take in Oscar’s face, drinking the visage of him in, disheveled, all signs of poise and pride abandoned in the wake of their breeding bliss.

“Mine, you’re mine, give me- you’re so tight, you’re mine,” he realized he was growling against the corner of his mouth, hips snapping greedily into him. Oscar whined, one of his hands leaving the flexing muscle of Zolf’s ass to slip between them, filling the last of the space separating them, pulling himself frantically. Zolf groaned and tried to meet the speed of his flying fist, fucking into the grip of him-

“ _ Gods, Zolf, gods gods gods- I’m-  _ oh,  _ Z-Zolf! I’m- _ ” his speech failed him, the bard losing his language for a wordless cry, and another, and another, voice going high and thin-

- _ cracking _ -

-drawing a tight breath so sharp it was almost a scream-

Zolf watched in awe as he stopped breathing completely, coming on his own chest in hot stripes, back arching and bowing, pressing into his fist, pressing-

- _ oh gods _ -

-around Zolf-

Oscar’s orgasm reached Zolf, clamping down around his cock, flexing waves- he could  _ feel _ how the pleasure peaked, and peaked, and  _ peaked- _ inside him like this, connected, held so  _ tight _ -

- _ his bard his handler his lover his love his Oscar his orgasm his pleasure his connection his body his sweat spit air scream- _

Zolf groaned through gritted teeth as he came so hard he couldn’t keep his eyes open, knowing his grip on Oscar’s leg was bruisingly tight but unable to ease up as he shot deep in him, slow rolling thrusts pumping his spitting cock deep, deep, filling him, seeding him with his, his-  _ his Oscar, only his _ -

He saw fireworks. Felt them, too, all the way from his cock, buried in the body of the man he loved, gripping hard and wringing him out so perfectly, to the tips of his fingers. Sparks and stars. He burrowed his face into Oscar’s neck as he chased it, finding pleasure that felt like it would never end. Sparks and stars. Fireworks. Burning through him.

When the ecstacy finally released him, slipping out of his muscles and nerves like a receding tide over smooth salt-scraped stones, he slumped onto Oscar, into his arms and legs, realizing Oscar had held him tight with his limbs as well as his ass as he’d come. He felt raw and fresh, enveloped in his embrace. Light. If Oscar wasn’t holding him, he felt like he would float away.

“I love you,” Oscar sighed, nosing in his hair. He drew a deep breath, like a happy sigh, and then a smaller one.

“Are- are you sniffing me?” Zolf asked, lazy and foolish with the afterglow.

“I just can’t get enough of you,” Oscar murmured, and Zolf could feel him smiling against his scalp.

“Greedy. Stuffed and still trying to get more of me in you. When’s my turn, huh?”

Wilde started to giggle, and that did interesting things to their nerves where they were still connected. Zolf shivered a little, oversensitive, and sighed as he carefully pulled out of him. Oscar had loosened up around him, legs still wrapped around him, but not hitched up around his waist and hips- just tangled with his.

“Your legs are warm,” he noted with surprise. He cocked his head and looked down at Zolf curiously. “Do you think they help you fuck better, or hinder you?”

Zolf started to laugh as well, caught off guard by the question. “Uh- dunno, I don’t really… I’m not… I don’t think I fuck often enough to really tell, to be honest.”

For some reason, that made Oscar beam and nuzzle back into his hair. “Glad I made the cut.”

Zolf’s laughter soured slightly, as he felt the familiar dig of self-doubt. “There’s not exactly tryouts.”

Oscar parried the pain effortlessly. “Don’t fault yourself for the world’s lack of taste. You’re a league unto your own, Zolf, don’t mistake which way is up.” He kissed his head, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I’ve had lovers plenty, but only one love. Please don’t suggest I chose wrong.”

For some reason, this made Zolf’s breathing hitch, and he grasped Oscar back just as tightly.

“I’m yours. Just yours,” he continued, words barely more than breath, and Zolf’s cooling skin flushed with warmth.

“Good. Er- I’m. A bit possessive. I guess.”

“I would love to be owned.” There was a raw note of honesty in his voice that struck Zolf to the core. “I love you.

“I love you,” Zolf replied, feeling like his heart was too big for his chest.

“I love you,” Wilde said again.

“I love you.”

He would never tire of this repetition. Lying in bed, tangled up in each other, surviving, thriving, loving, finding a small world of perfection amidst the storms. 

There in Oscar’s arms. 

Oscar in his arms.

His.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I havent finished a multi parter like this in a long while and I'm so grateful for all the comments and kudos's and beholders who were with me along the journey. And to the riders- it's been a ride! All the love to you. I hope to write something like this again soon!


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